God’s Promises Are True

One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.

THE ONLY GENETIC TRAIT I (Kristin) was sure my kids would have was blue eyes. Since all four grandparents have blue eyes—both my parents and my husband’s parents—and my husband and I have blue eyes, it seemed likely. My memories of sixth-grade science and Mendelian genetics are fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure that is how DNA works.

Although my children did emerge with blue eyes, they also possess traits I didn’t expect, like my husband’s sense of humor, my slow-burn temper, my husband’s love of entertaining, and my love of books. Both the characteristics that cause me great delight and those that provoke the urge to roll my eyes in exasperation can be seen in my daughters and their unique personalities.

Just as I’ve passed traits to my children, I’ve received characteristics from my parents. I’ve got my mom’s gentleness and my dad’s optimism. And I’ll gladly blame my love of sugar on my dad’s self-described Norwegian sweet tooth.

I’m fascinated by families and the characteristics they display, including those in the story of Zechariah and, later, his son John the Baptist. Technically, John the Baptist’s birth occurs just before the Christmas story. But when we consider the scope of history, it’s essential to consider what came before and what came afterward.

The first chapter of Luke tells us that Zechariah and his wife, Elizabeth, are a childless couple who are both descended from priestly lines. They are “righteous in God’s eyes, careful to obey all of the Lord’s commandments and regulations” (Luke 1:6).

One day, while Zechariah is serving at the Temple, burning incense in the sanctuary, an angel of the Lord appears to him. Though he is afraid, the angel reassures him and gives him the startling news that his wife, Elizabeth, will have a son. According to the angel, the son will be filled with the Holy Spirit and will serve with a spirit and power like the great prophet Elijah, preparing people for the coming of the Lord and turning their hearts to God.

At this point, Zechariah expresses some doubts. “How can I be sure this will happen?” he asks. After all, he and his wife are both beyond childbearing age.

The angel responds by admonishing him for not believing what he has heard about God’s plans and tells him that because of his doubt, he won’t be able to speak aloud until the child is born.

Several months later, after the child’s birth, neighbors and relatives assemble for the circumcision ceremony. They assume the child’s name will be Zechariah, after his father. When Elizabeth counters that his name will be John, the others are astounded by the decision to use a nonfamily name, and they ask Zechariah to confirm or deny it. After motioning for something to respond with, he writes, “His name is John.” Instantly, his speech returns, and he praises God.

What I love about this story—besides the fact that this couple conceived after waiting so long—is what it reveals about how God deals with our doubts. He doesn’t shame Zechariah, but he does respond by silencing him.

Gabriel declares, “Since you didn’t believe what I said, you will be silent and unable to speak until the child is born. For my words will certainly be fulfilled at the proper time” (Luke 1:20).

Is this temporary inability to speak a punishment, or is it actually an invitation to ponder quietly in the presence of the Lord? What else can account for Zechariah’s transformation from someone who argues with the angel to someone who offers a beautiful song of praise to the Lord?

Sometimes, our words reveal the limits of our understanding of God’s purposes. On the other hand, silence can invite us to quiet our hearts and minds. Rather than focusing on the limitations our words reveal, we leave space in our silence that God can fill.

Because by the time Zechariah writes that his son’s name is John, he has been changed. And the experience reminds us that God is always and already at work. He doesn’t need us to agree; his power is already working.

Years later, the doubt that once tripped up Zechariah would materialize again in his son, John. Just as the angel had prophesied, John had a vibrant ministry. He had followed in his parents’ footsteps and—as befits their priestly lineage—had been set apart from birth, preparing the way for Jesus.

Jesus was a relative of John the Baptist. Though we have no anecdotal evidence of any interaction between John and Jesus during the thirty years before Jesus’ ministry began, I wonder if that family connection influenced John. After all, I still remember when my mischievous cousin told me that the electric fencing at their farm was turned off and dared me to touch it. It wasn’t off, and that quick zap landed me on my rear end in the grass and taught me to take my cousin’s word with a grain of salt. Perhaps, in a similar way, John wondered if someone who was his peer and relative could truly be the Savior.

Yet by the time John and Jesus connected during Jesus’ ministry, John seemed convinced that his kinsman was indeed the Son of God. He even baptized Jesus in the Jordan River and triumphantly shouted, “Look! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29).

But later, as he is imprisoned and awaiting death, the doubts creep in.

He asks his disciples to go to Jesus and pose this question: “Are you the Messiah we’ve been expecting, or should we keep looking for someone else?” (Matthew 11:3).

There’s so much pain and vulnerability in that question. It’s one we can find ourselves asking when a loved one dies, bad things happen to good people, or injustice occurs. Jesus, are you really who you say you are?

Just like his father, Zechariah, John is questioning God’s plan. But though Zechariah was challenged with silence by the angel, Jesus’ response is different. He doesn’t silence John. Instead, he answers, “Go back to John and tell him what you have heard and seen—the blind see, the lame walk, those with leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor. . . . God blesses those who do not fall away because of me” (Matthew 11:4-6).

In other words, Jesus’ response to John echoes the essence of the angel’s response to Zechariah: God’s promises are being fulfilled. Is that not the proof you need?

I’m encouraged by the idea that Zechariah and John, who came from generations of faithful men and women, still experienced doubt. And that God met them not with scorn or derision but with compassion and what they needed: for Zechariah, a silence that created space for God to fill; for John, an answer that got to the heart of why we wrestle with our faith.

Perhaps you’ve experienced seasons of doubt. Sometimes, when we watch friends and loved ones struggle with addiction or loss, chronic pain, financial problems, or marital woes, we can struggle to see God’s goodness in those circumstances. Though we can’t always envision the ending from where we are, God can. He’s not thrown off by our doubts or worried by our circumstances.

Not all of us have earthly fathers or mothers to emulate, but we all have a heavenly Father whose lead we can follow. He wants to give us a rich spiritual heritage of joy, peace, and contentment. The Psalms remind us that from generation to generation we can share about God’s greatness—his mighty acts, and how he’s loved us so well. When we choose to trust God and his promises, we can create new pathways for those who follow behind us to tread. Believing God’s promises provides the roots of faithfulness we need for developing a rich spiritual heritage for our children or others we mentor.

Heavenly Father, thank you that you don’t scorn our doubts. Though your answers may not be what we want, they are what we need. Help us to see your fingerprints revealed even in circumstances where they feel hidden. Thank you that we can trust you and that you keep your promises. May we build upon the foundation of your truth as we trust in you. Amen.